


Because All I Know is You

by ohitsLan



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Borderline Personality Disorder, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medication, Mental Health Issues, Minor Tendou Satori/Ushijima Wakatoshi, Oblivious Ushijima Wakatoshi, Pining, Pining Ushijima Wakatoshi, Satori, Teen Romance, Therapy, Ushiten Week
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:28:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29905953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohitsLan/pseuds/ohitsLan
Summary: Schizoid Personality Disorder.That’s what the doctors called it. It was the pathetic label they’d stamped on Ushijima as a sorry excuse for his unusual lacking of emotion.But there’s this one person that makes him feel different, or simply, makes him feel.
Relationships: Tendou Satori/Ushijima Wakatoshi
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

Schizoid Personality Disorder.

That’s what the doctors called it. It was the pathetic label they’d stamped on Ushijima as a sorry excuse for his behavior, or rather, his lack of it. It’s the quote on quote, “reason,” why Ushijima struggled expressing things as simple and common as a genuine smile, or the explanation for his apparent distantness no matter what kind of social situation he was faced with.

They thought something was wrong with him; almost everyone did. Clearly, or else he wouldn’t have been dragged off to a therapist in the first place. There wouldn’t be silent whispers about him within the hallways of his own school, or the pressure in his chest of simply trying to be normal, to be like everyone else, and to understand other students.

Because not only was it hard to understand Wakatoshi Ushijima, but it was equally as difficult for him to read others as well. The way he heard other people joke, and laugh, and the complex system of sarcasm: It was all incredibly difficult for him to comprehend. And it was even harder for him to express the confusion to his therapist every Wednesday; he was only able to sit in the plush sofa and sit silently, hands cupping his denim covered kneecaps as he struggled with the wording of why he was the way he was. Because Ushijima didn’t even understand himself. He didn’t understand why he couldn’t feel things, or why he found it so hard to just pretend like he could, or to act out a faux facade of happiness and love. Maybe pretending would lead to genuinity. He didn’t understand why he struggled so much and why he put so much effort in remaining formal. Were conversations that uncomfortable? Was he that much of a disappointment that something as ordinarily habitual as a conversation became a challenge for him?

It seemed like the only thing he could feel anymore was blank: That’s what he told his therapist, who went by the name of Iwasaki. He’d informed her that he wasn’t depressed, or down, really. He didn’t sob in the depths of his room at night, or feel the need to vent out an angry rush of emotions. It was the fact that he couldn’t feel, and he didn’t know what things were supposed to rile laughter out of him, and what things were supposed to shed tears. He didn’t know what was supposed to make him scrunch up his nose in distaste or what scenes in horror movies were intended to make him hide beneath the covers in a quivering fear. Emotions were simply too complex of a system yet so incredibly basic at the same time, and it confused him. It was confusing how confusing this all was. At least he could feel muddled and disoriented like he seemingly always did. That was something, so maybe his mood stabilizers he was prescribed weren’t completely and utterly useless.

The mood stabilizers. He took the little white capsules at around lunch time each day, usually hiding the pills by tucking them beneath the breading of a sandwich, or sneaking them between slightly parted lips as quickly as possible to keep it hidden from his classmates. The side effects of the medication though often made his hands a little shakier, causing volleyball practices to be slightly more challenging, and the prescription seemed to suck the energy right out of him, causing the man to collapse against his bed each afternoon like a lump on a log, unmoving and exhausted.

No one knew about his condition. Iwasaki had promised him a sworn secrecy during one of their therapy sessions, keeping as much detail out of their conversations as possible when his family had asked her. Not that there would be much to say anyways. Ushijima was such an inexplicably private person that his typical answer when asked about how his day was constricted around a brief yet truthfully honest: “I don’t know.”

He didn’t think he’d ever be capable of knowing either, to be honest. It would take an absolute miracle to crack into the brick enforced contraption that was Ushijima’s brain. And he wasn’t even sure if a miracle wouldn’t help either. It would take a whole damned monster to be able to crack a pathway through his skull and into the conflicting depths of his thoughts and mind.

Because who would even care enough to even try and guess was the brunette was thinking. It wasn’t worth it, and it was a guaranteed failed mission simply due to the fact that Ushijima himself wasn’t ever sure what to think. There was never a hesitation before his words, and every decision seemed to be made on instinct rather than an elaborated and well planned act.

He looked up suddenly but slowly, his dark, stone cold eyes meeting against the concerned ones of his therapist who currently had a notepad clutched tightly between bony fingertips.

“Color?” She asked, lifting the ballpoint pen between a middle and index finger, wiggling the writing utensil between closed fingertips.

Iwasaki always started things out by asking him which option from the plethora of vibrancies he related to at the moment. If it was an upsetting day, he was to answer with blue, happy would be red, angry would be red, so on and forth. It was their code, or system, and they were both relatively familiar with it.

“Gray,” he answered, the same as he had answered during every other session. It was a exchange of words so commonly shared that it felt like a routine now; a rehearsed dialogue that rarely every provided any new context to it.

Ushijima always felt gray. Gray was, in metaphorical terms, the colored embodiment of him. It was neutral, dependable, and uniquely the only color on the spectrum that was able to waver between both warm and cold tones, similar to the way Ushijima was never able to figure out which of the two routes to walk down. Warm or cold; publicity or privacy.

Gray was a safe color. It wasn’t necessarily negative, but refrained from being overly positive simultaneously. He felt an odd connection with the shade and it was his usual reply to the question.

Iwasaki nodded, not writing anything down yet. Instead she tucked the pen behind her earth, dark strands of hair keeping it in place as she clasped her hands together, already prepared with a follow up question.

“Would you like to talk about it?”

“No, I’m afraid not.”

And that was it. She dropped the subject at that, letting a comfortable silence fall between the two of them just in case there was a chance Ushjima would change his mind, which of course, he wouldn’t. He always stuck with his decisions, as spur of the moment and last minute as they always were. But she always gave him the opportunity to change his mind; it was practically her job.

“Everything okay between you and-” she paused, tapping her manicured fingernails against the paper surface of her notepad, clearly raking her brain for the name of someone important in Ushijima’s life, someone who actually had meaning to him, or rather, brought meaning to him.

“Satori.” He reminded her, his tone unwavering. It might have came off cold, or scolding, if Iwasaki wasn’t so used to the boy’s vocal range, which was almost always monotone. It was a part of his dialect, and wasn’t intended to come off as menacing as it could seem to someone else.

The gentle padding of her nails hitting the paper ceased to a confirmed silence and she beamed at him, acting as if the supportive expression would encourage Ushijima to continue speaking, to elaborate on at least something other than single worded responses like he’d been doing previously.

“Yeah, that’s his name. How are you two doing? Anything new happen?” She was prodding him, egging him with a topic she knew would open him up because what little Ushijima did tell her about his social life typically revolved around a redheaded boy with an ability for guessing. And it didn’t take a major in psychology for her to tell he had a soft spot for the guy.

She noticed Ushijima’s throat tightening ever so slightly as he swallowed with the concerned but caring interrogation.

“I’m not sure. He was excited yesterday though.” Ushijima’s hands were beginning to dampen ever so slightly with a forming sweat. He wasn’t sure why as kept his focus on Iwasaki who was quick to add on, never skipping a beat.

“Really? Over what?” she asked as she swore there was a glint of something else in those dark pupils, something that could have been a hint of passion. It was a hopeful thought though, and Iwasaki knew better than to have faith in it, instead pushing the thought away. 

“We had another practice game, and he performed well, as usual.” There was just barely a hint of admiration laced between the words, and you could easily miss it if you weren’t focusing all your attention on the way his stiff shoulders seemed to look a little lighter and lift up just slightly in way that was so incredibly easy to look over.

“And you like the way he plays?” 

The pen was back in Iwasaki’s hand, and Ushijima can’t remember when she had picked it up again. At some point he’d gotten distracted, whether it be his sudden interest in conversation, or the glint of the sun through the the half closed blinds behind his therapist, he wasn’t sure.

“I suppose. I just appreciate his enthusiasm about things.” He defended himself, although there wasn’t precisely anything he had to be defensive about, really. He liked watching the way Tendou’s beady yet endearing eyes were so expressive, so vivid, and he wasn’t sure if he was jealous of them or if he wanted to take the time to just get completely lost in those pretty orbs, admire the way sunshine would highlight a glint in each iris, and memorize into the corners of his brain each and every detail.

That was normal, right?

“But you appreciate him too?” 

Why did that question seem so intrusively personal to Ushijima? Iwasaki was a therapist; it was in her job description to ask patients about things in order to get them to talk, and yeah, sure Ushijima had a little trouble with talking, especially about himself, but he was suddenly growing almost uncomfortable now. The answer was yes. It was so painstakingly obvious that the answer was yes. He appreciated Tendou a lot, more than he knew he was capable of, but for some unknown reason, he didn’t want to say it. He didn’t want to admit to the fact that he cared about a certain redhead because he didn’t think he could care.

He can’t care, right? He can’t care about Tendou or anyone at all because his stupid medication only made him tired and failed to give him any real, genuine emotion. Why was it so hard to just say yes?

“Ushijima, do you care about Tendou?” she asked again, and Ushijima realized he waited to long for an answer.

That was new. Ushijima usually spoke up as soon as he was spoken to, typically not thinking twice about an impact of his words, but this was different somehow. He had to think about this one a whole lot more simply because Tendou meant a whole lot more to him. His opinionated standing with a certain guess blocker meant much more than how his day was, or if anything interesting had come up at school along the lines of a field trip or training camp. Tendou meant more to him than anything else did, and the fact was kind of shocking.

“Yes.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Wakatoshi-kun?”

A playful voice dragged out the last syllable in such a familiar and practiced way that Ushijima was somehow able to picture what the boy looked like while saying it, chin tucked into his shoulder, his head most likely cocked to the side ever so slightly in a questioning manner. 

Tendou had called him out of the blue, most likely to rant or catch up, either of which Ushijima was grateful for. Talking with Tendou was refreshing, relieving, and honestly just such a nice change of pace. Whenever he would come over to visit Ushijima, he would lay himself across the couch, draping himself against the furniture in such a graceful, almost beautiful pattern. It was nice to have those kinds of interactions with him because Tendou would do the talking. He would ramble about things, or people, and Ushijima only had to sit and listen. It’s one of the many things making him cherish any shared moments with his friend, and it was probably why he answered the call so embarrassingly quick. 

He always preferred talking over the phone rather than texting. Texting made it even more difficult to detect emotion or tone, making an already challenging task like conversation, even more impossible. He simply couldn’t read people, and having to read the words minimized within messages on the tiny white light of his phone made it so much more unbearable. Calling, however, was more similar to an in-person interaction, and it took away the struggle of figuring out what facial expressions he was supposed to convey and at what particular times he was to suppress them.

“Good evening, Satori,” Ushijima responded, eyes roaming mindlessly across the organized layers of his room. He always kept his room tidy. It was something that didn’t require any thought rather than labor alone and Ushijima liked things that way. Maybe that was why he had such a passion in volleyball as well because there was no thinking, only doing. 

It was a Saturday night, meaning he hadn’t interacted much with anyone. Even his own family had been out and about in town, buying groceries and leaving Ushijima to rot alone in his room in a distaste for getting out of the house. 

Saturdays were mental breaks though, alone time. Whether that was a good thing or not, Ushijima wasn’t sure, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t miss the outgoing presence of Tendou who was now on the other end of the line, laughing wickedly in such an adorable, childlike way that was almost making his heart twinge a little.

Almost.

“You don’t have to be so formal,” Tendou droned, although it was only a tease as he chuckled into the speaker, causing Ushijima to swallow. His chest felt a little heavier, constricted even at the happy sound. Tendou’s laugh was one of his favorite noises, probably sitting somewhere next to the sounds of the birds that chirped outside his window whenever he felt restless deep into the confines of the night, reaching into the early mornings. 

“I apologize.”

It was a mumble, a deep one that was surprising to have even been audible on the receiving end. Vocal variety would never be a strong suit for him, he was sure, but Tendou only continued laughing softly at the lame apology.

“Anyways, how are you?” 

Ushijima hated that question. It was horrible, and he never had an answer for it. A positive answer would be a lie and he wouldn’t know how to make it convincing, but a negative one would as well. In fact, a negative response would end up with an even worse situation because it required an explanation and a reasoning behind the feeling, and if there was anything Ushjima was bat at, it was providing answers behind his sentiments.

“I’m doing fine,” he settled on his stereotypical answer, and he supposed it was a fairly good way to answer. He was as fine as he could be for a confused teenager who struggled with normal conversations and smiling for pictures.

“Fine, fine, It’s always fine. Come on Waka-Chan, I need more than that.”

Ushijima let his eyes settle on a picture framing the two of them that sat against his desk. They had their arms draped across one another, Tendou grinning mischievously as two fingers were positioned over Ushijima’s head in the form of bunny ears. Ushijima was only standing in the frame, eyes stoic and blank as he remained oblivious to the mocking fingertips. 

A faint smile tugged at his lips just slightly at the faded memory. Tendou looked nice in that photo. Well, he always looked nice to Ushijima, but it was just invigoratingly reviving to reimagine how Tendou had pulled him in close for the photograph, handing him the camera with an earnest and cheeky smile, a smile that pleasantly haunted his daydreams on the days that he dozed off in class.

“I miss you.” 

That wasn’t what he meant to say. He was supposed to tell Tendou something about how nothing new came up or how there simply wasn't anything interesting in Ushijima’s life for him to talk about currently. What he wasn’t supposed to say was, ‘I miss you’. He never said anything endearing like that, and the words were so foreign to him when they left his lips. There was a horrible, painful silence that followed his words that seemed to cut through him like a life. It twisted at his gut and what was only a few seconds of waiting felt like an eternity until Tendou spoke up again.

“Is Wakatoshi-kun finally interested in someone other than himself?” 

He was covering himself up, Ushijima figured out almost immediately. He was terrible at understanding people, but Tendou however? He knew that guy like the back of his hand, understanding him better than himself most of the time. He was hiding something, definitely, and the self conscious and nervous parts of Ushijima’s brain were fearing that it was a feeling of uncomfortableness in which Tendou was masking. 

He was unresponsive, letting only the sound of his breathing absorb into his phone microphone. 

Tendou wasn’t uncomfortable, was he? He hoped not. Nevertheless, he made a mental note never to be verbal about missing the redhead ever again, as long as he was able to.

Tendou hummed into the phone, and the pretty tune was able to bring Ushijima back to reality. At least he hadn’t hung up yet. Maybe missing people was a neutral term, and it didn’t mean anything after all. Ushijima was in the clear and was simply overthinking this, overthinking because Tendou required the full workings of his brain. He deserved for Ushijima to be careful and cautious, to keep the friendship steady.

Because god knows what Ushijima would do without Tendou.

“I can’t read your mind,” he egged him on, somehow making the words come out as flirty and playful and mocking all at the same time.

Ushijima sighed, tearing his gaze away from the photograph that he’d been staring at for far too long, eyes resting upon Tendou’s features for an unusual amount of time as he instead forced himself to look at his wall, a structure as solid and blank as he was.

“I can’t read it either.” 

What was he doing? His sentence was dangerous, almost hinting to his little secret. It was on the verge of revealing, and he was almost opening up to the man, which he couldn’t afford. He couldn’t afford a version of Tendou that didn’t like Ushijima for his faults; it was too unbearable to imagine.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

The usual whiny edge was gone from his voice, and he was much quieter now, definitely aware something was out of the ordinary. He knew Ushijima was hiding something now, and there wasn’t exactly a way to get out of this. There wasn’t an escape from the prying personality that happened to be his friend who was now waiting for him to answer, to inform him at least a hint.

“Can we not talk about this? I’m sorry, Satori.”

He technically was capable of talking about it. He was capable of telling anyone about the thing that caused him to curl up in his bed in silence for hours at a time, even without the escape route of sleep. It was a couple of words stranded into a sentence; that was all it would take to tell Tendou, but the organization of the phrase was one in which Ushijima just couldn’t say aloud, not yet. He knew he might have to at some point, but postponing that date seemed like such a better option.

Tendou huffed on the other line, but he didn’t pry anymore. He didn’t try to ask for an elaboration or anything like it, and Ushijima was so incredibly thankful for that. His end of the conversation was over with now. He wouldn’t have to say much more, and he knew Tendou knew that.

Tendou knew when enough was enough for him, when he was drained and couldn’t take much more back and forth talks, and he knew when Ushijima was out of words. He knew Ushijima just as well as Ushijima knew him. Yet he still stuck around. Tendou stuck around and hadn’t left him in the dirt just yet.

That gave him a glimmer of hope. 

Maybe, when the time did come, Tendou would have an unfaltering opinion of him, one that continued to value Ushijima rather than regard him of anything less than what he was previously. 

“It’s fine. So I tried out that new sushi place across town. Did you know they have a conveyer belt?”

And just like that, it was back to their regular, normal conversations, and the rush of relief that washed over Ushijima was insane.

Tendou was always driving a rollercoaster of emotions within Ushijima, and the head rush from it all was something favorable and thrilling and perfect. Tendou was perfect and he made Ushijima feel like someone else.

Tendou made him feel, and while the euphoria from it all was overwhelming at times, he still found himself chasing after excuses to hang out with him and to just listen to him talk, to hear that mischievous voice ring beautifully against his ear drums.

That night he fell asleep on the call as Tendou rambled on about how the new sushi restaurant only seemed to play classical music and nothing else, distraught by the lack of variety.

And that was the soundest he’d slept in months.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning when Ushijima woke up, Tendou had already hung up. It wasn´t the first time one of them had fallen asleep on call, so he wasn't surprised to hear the lack of adorable cackling or any light snoring on the other end; Tendou had an indecent habit of dialing Ushijima’s number when it was close to, if not, midnight. Not that Ushijima minded; he didn't mind at all, and he actually got a twinge of something undetectable whenever Tendouś contact number showed up on his phone screen, a feeling that fluttered around in his abdomen and made it seem like his shoulders weren't so immensely heavy like they usually were. He didn't understand why exactly, and he probably would never come close to finding out, but he liked the compassionate apprehension that swirled around behind his ribcage in the animated way that felt impossible. 

That feeling only seemed to take home in his gut when Tendou was around. It made his palms sweat and his heart race, but in an exultant way. It was something so alien but meticulous that Ushijima found himself chasing after Tendou in the way a teenage boy would to their cheerleader crush in a sitcom or cheesy romance novel.

But it wasn´t in a romantic way, no. It was a friendly platonic commendation that he had for Tendou. Ushijima merely didn't have a romantic attraction for anyone; he just couldn´t, much less for a guy, and much less for his best friend. That was preposterous. It was unauthorized and completely out of question, and Ushijima had to quite literally force the idea out of his brain to avoid any further elaboration on the subject. 

It was Sunday now, meaning Ushijima had chores to do, which was not a problem at all. It was invigorating to get to spend some quality time outdoors, the sun beating down against the back of his neck in a gratifying demeanor as he strolled around the perimeters of his familyś property, looking for anything that needed his attention.

He trudged out of bed, facing himself in the mirror. His shortly cropped hair was a little messy, tussled from turning too much in his sleep. His eyes were vacant and irritated, tinted pink from forcing himself awake so early in the morning. He hated how his eyes always appeared that way, not the antagonized red in his sclera, but the way his pupils were horrifically inanimate and dark. 

He had always heard the overused expression stating that the eyes were the window to the soul, but Ushijimaś eyes were lifelessly guarded, serious, and similar to some sort of void within his sockets.

He didn't appreciate it, didn't like at all how they looked stone cold and dead no matter what the circumstance, but it seemed oddly and disgustingly fitting. It was ironically perfect for him actually, and his eyes would simply have to be added to the listings of things Ushijima disliked about himself, fitting in perfectly, nestled between multitudes of insecurities that only mattered in rare cases like now, cases when he was left alone to deal with no one other than himself, lacking the relief provided from outside distractions, left in the deafening silence of Ushijimaś own bedroom.

He ripped his gaze away from the glaring image in the mirror, instead stepping into the direction of his bathroom, footsteps heavy and thudding against the wooden floorboards in his usual, tired fashion. It was a typical morning routine, one that he was used to taking a part in to start the day: waking up, bathroom hygiene, and proceeding to carry out any work that needed to be done, whether it be yardwork or school related. 

Routines were nice; they didn't require any thought, and could simply be carried out in ways that were probably robotic. That's how Ushijima felt as he shoved a toothbrush towards the back of his gums. He felt like a brainless, useless robot whoś only function was to do, with no questions asked. He appreciated the way robots worked like that, and he knew it wasn't exactly normal or humanlike at all, but it felt like him and it's what he related to. 

He spit out a minty mixture of toothpaste and saliva into the middle of his sink, watching as the foamy solution swirled slowly into the drainage system. The day had barely started and he was already looking forward to falling asleep again. 

\-----

Tendou wasn´t oblivious. He was staring up at his ceiling fan for several, condescending minutes after he´d hung up on the lightly snoring Ushijima. He almost wished it was a facetime call instead, so he could see the dozing image of his friend, drifting off to sleep. His features would probably be slack for once, rather than tensed up, peaceful and in a calm serenity. It wouldn't be clouded with a protective determination to hide himself from the world like it always was. 

He knew Ushijima was hiding something. Well, Ushijima hid just about everything from just about everyone; he was a private person like that, and Tendou respected the decision, but he couldn't abide from the present knowledge that this was something that he felt was important. The dots were slowly forming in his mind yet they seemed so drastically far away from each other simultaneously. He'd caught the way the ace would slip a tiny, white capsule between bites during lunch. He was careful to analyze the way Ushijima always took a swig of water down afterwards as well, so obviously washing down a dosage of medication of some sort. Medication for what, though?

In the beginning, Tendou thought it was ibuprofen, or something along those lines to dull the throb of an irritated headache, or maybe even tame an upset stomach or fever. Perhaps Ushijima was only secretive about it as to not cause a scene or attract any attention to the fact he wasn't feeling well that afternoon. He gave the man the liberating benefit of the doubt by thinking such. Of course, Tendou didn't fail to notice how it didn't seem to stop after that, the same actions being repeated over and over. Each time Ushijima opened his neatly packed bento box, he was cautious with the first bite, scanning other peopleś faces to make sure they weren't watching him, making sure they were distracted.

But Tendou wasn't ever completely distracted. He always kept his focus in multiple places at once, the vision provided from the corner of his eye much more useful to him than it should be. Nonetheless, he was only able to draw one thing after the phone call: Ushijima was keeping something from him, and it was definitely something that bothered him, and it bothered him a lot. 

He should leave it at that, let the man deal with it on his own terms, without the meddling intervention that happened ro be his own curiosity, but at the same time he wanted to help. 

He wanted to help Ushijima, and the simple fact that he couldn´t without the necessary knowledge to do so was killing him. He cared about the boy, a lot actually, and if he was being completely honest with himself, had the tiniest crush on him too. But it was so much more than a physical attraction that had him drawn towards Ushijima. It was more than the way Tendou caught himself staring at a particularly toned abdomen in the locker room before practices, or the way he so easily got distracted by the determined gaze of the captain. 

It was the sturdy and reliable presence that always followed him. He felt safe around Ushijima, comforted and at home, so obviously he wanted to be there for Ushijima too, to be there for him when he was so clearly distressed the majority of the time, so painstakingly hiding something from him. 

But that wasn't his business. 

Ushijima was a labyrinth of guarded mysteries and miscellaneous secrets that would surely take Tendou a lifetime to discover each and every corner of. Except Tendou was okay with that. He was more than okay with spending his free time trying to understand the boy, to get under his skin. It was almost like a hobby that he took up, chasing to catch up with him between classes, finding excuses to come over for packets of homework that he, quote on quote, ¨procrastinated on¨, and etcetera. Ushijima never seemed to mind at least, always welcoming Tendou with what he'd assumed were welcoming and open arms, although it was hard to tell. Either way, the lack of resistance was enough to encourage him into continuing with the nonstop attention.

He should cut it out, quit it and stop; his head was screaming at him to do so, for him to keep his distance and let Ushijima confess the pestering secret on his own terms. He wanted to; he truly did, but the stubbornly clingy side of him wanted to learn absolutely everything there was to know about Ushijima, it was such an irresistibly important thing to him. And Tendou would just about follow that man to the edge of the Earth, pursuing, always an arms reach away, if that's what it took to get him to simply trust him, to have enough reliability to feel secure enough to tell him himself. 

So maybe that was why Tendou felt the movement of his own trembling hand, reaching to pick up his phone again the next morning. He shouldn't have; he knew Ushijima liked his privacy, practically bathed in it, especially on the weekends, especially on Sundays, but his thumbs were already swiping across the illuminated screen, typing a message to a number that Tendou had memorized by now. 

TO USHIWAKA <3: Wakatoshi-kunnnnn, can I stop by today??

Ushijima hardly ever replied to texts or read them at all; Tendou was aware of that. But maybe that was why he decided on a visual message, rather than a verbal one, for the lack of confrontation and opportunity of anonymity.

Ushijima couldn´t exactly deny him if he didn´t see the message in the first place, right? It was a scandalous act, he knew that at least, but he didn’t exactly care as he enthusiastically threw his phone back on his mattress, hurrying over towards his closet for a change of clothes. 

Hopefully Ushijima would be okay with a surprise visit.


	4. Chapter 4

Time is such a confusing conceptualization. It's always changing, always ticking and strutting forward at a pace that goes by either too quickly to even remember, or dragging at a slow and achingly lethargic momentum that is just aggravating to say the least. 

Time is valuable though, Ushijima knew that. It was a phrase plastered on the calendar of inspirational quotes against his wall; the same calendar that had been stapled there in the failed, diminished hopes of trying to spark a match of motivation in Ushijima: a fire that, he had come to terms with, would always be distinguished, never a burning passion. But despite the sentence feeling almost ingrained into his skull, memorized into the depths of his brain, he couldn't forget the contrasting words stating that time was also, and will always be an illusion as well. That one, Ushijima could somewhat comprehend. 

It was a mirage that he would never be able to grasp due to the solemn and wearisome fact that every day only felt the same now. Nothing was ever really different; just a repetition of trying to get through the day, really, always overwhelmed with the feeling of being a lifeless blob that could only hover around in a suffocating uselessness. Time didn't matter to him because it simply did not segregate separate days and hours. It never would either. There was no hope for valuing the abstraction if those same days and hours appeared identical to him, blending in a colorless, monotone blur. 

Even today felt like a senseless haze as Ushijima twisted the hatch of a lock on his family's chicken coop. The birds eagerly hurried out of the enclosed pen, flapping their feathered wings in a frantic white and brown smear as they hurried over to the shade of bushes to his right. 

Letting the aves explore the grass and enjoy the freedom was something Ushijima could admit to liking. It was significantly easier to stand a respectable distance away from the chickens, making sure they were okay, than it was to attend his classes back at Shiratorizawa like he did during the weekdays. 

He was only closing the cage door after the last chickens´ escapade when he felt an unexpected yet familiar pair of slender arms snake around his waist, surprising him, though only barely and Ushijima hated the lack of reaction he provided, how his bones felt too appallingly stiff to lean back into the man now standing behind him; the man who was Satori Tendou. 

He didn't flinch, didn't even turn his head in the slightest; he never did anything of the sort in retaliation to Tendou´s affection, but he didn't exactly do anything to remove himself from the embrace either. The comfort that engulfed him from only being held was still something he wasn't used to, wasn't familiar with, but he never dared to stray away from the touch. 

"Tendou," he greeted, although it was far from welcoming. Ushijima didn´t necessarily mean to come off in such a fundamental way; it was only an unfortunately acquired dialect that he´d failed to designate over the years. Still, to anyone that didn´t know him as well as Tendou did, anyone who didn´t analyze him as thoughtfully as he did, could have easily interpreted it as him just unambiguously saying a name out loud and into the sunny breeze. 

"Heyyy Waka-Chan, care for some help?" 

Ushijima could feel the bony chin of his confidant digging into his shoulder, conjoined with the feeling of a warm cheek pressing flush against his neck. Tendou was a touchy individual to say the least, always wrapping himself around the other and reaching for his hand. Not that Ushijima had anything against that. He actually liked it a considerable amount, if he was being fair. 

"I wouldn't mind that,"

As he acknowledged the fact, his eyes never left the fenced in coop in front of him. Maybe that was the wrong move; maybe he was supposed to turn around perhaps, encase Tendou in a hug equally as affectionate. Maybe he should have laid his hands overtop the paler ones that were situated against his abdomen. He was supposed to do something, something other than pull away and put a discouraging amount of distance between the two of them like he did.

There was a barely perceptible hint of a frown on Tendou´s face, only noticeable for a fraction of a second, before he quickly covered it up with a comfortable grin and was back into the normality of his outgoing and quirky persona, shoving his hands into his pockets with a what was now a lack of occupation.

"Okay! What's first?"

\-----

A few hours later, after the majority of the yard work was completed, Ushijima found himself sitting cross legged on his mattress, comfortable and safe from the extensive heat of the outdoors. Tendou sat directly across from him, a child-sized package of gummies in his hand, and a pretty, vexatious glint in his eyes that shimmered all too brightly as he plopped a strawberry shaped gummy past his lips.

"Tendou, have you ever loved someone before?"

The question was too personal, too interrogative and confidential, but Ushijima refused to look away as Tendou froze, midchew. His eyes widened in what looked to be like shock from the sudden outburst from Ushijima; it was totally uncharacteristic of him to talk about things like romance. Perhaps Ushijima had gone a tad too far this time, but not quite past the point of no return. He hadn't gotten that drastically far yet. 

Tendou coughed, setting the package of fruit snacks beside him. 

Surely Tendou had been in relationships. He was considerably attractive, and Ushijima was positive he would treat whoever the lucky individual was correctly and with a deserved fondness. Not that Ushijima pondered too often on the aspect of Tendou being in a relationship, or having crushes, or being in love. Ushijima definitely only thought about it the amount that a normal person was supposed to, surely. He only fantasized about the kinds of things Tendou would say to his significant other and what kinds of places he would take them to in a normal, respectable quantity. It was completely normal because it had to be. With the amount of times he forced himself to think such, he was convinced it was conventional, standard even. He was normal. Right?

"Sure I have, why? Someone caught your eye recently?"

"I was just wondering, that's all."

The idea of someone ´catching his eye´ sounded so incredibly preposterous that it was almost laughable at this point. It was silly and foolish to possibly believe an out of proportion idea such as that. 

Ushijima didn't fall in love; he couldn't fall in love. He was incapable and inhuman in that aspect and field. He wouldn't ever be able to slow dance in the moonlight with someone, or hold hands with a person in the dimmed and darkened lights of a movie theatre. He wouldn't be able to pull someone close, to tell them they were as loved as they would make him feel.

Because Ushijima would never be able to reciprocate those feelings, or feel them at all.

The fact alone was one of his heaviest burdens, forever sinking in the defined crease between his shoulder blades, pulling him down with every breath he took. 

"You're not a good liar."

"I know."

The air felt significantly thicker than before, for what reasons exactly, Ushijima wasn't sure, but he wasn't lying, was he? No, he didn't like anyone in that way because Wakatoshi Ushijima didn't have crushes. He didn´t catch feelings for people like that.. He never has and never will. 

He won't hold hands with a special someone and grow old with them. He won't move in with them after college and give them a goodbye kiss before leaving for work in the early mornings. He won't have the kind of future that's domesticated in a household of love and happiness.

And that was because Ushijima didn't deserve that love and happiness. 

He didn't deserve as bright of a future as Tendou did. 

"You know you can tell me, right?"

"Satori, you don´t understand."

There was a kind of glow behind Tendou´s eyes that wasn't there before. It looked like something that was almost hopeful, and Ushijima realized they were a lot closer than they were prior to the conversation. He can feel Tendou´s lightly fanning breath, the smell of citrus flavored gummies keeping him from pulling away.

"I won't judge."

Tendou´s hand had moved to cup Ushijima´s jaw, the heat radiating from his palm seemingly burning a hole right through the skin. 

"Yes you will."

It was his biggest fear: the horrifying conclusion that he would be viewed differently, weaker, and less capable as he was before. But Tendou was holding Ushijima firmly yet fondly by his jaw, pulling him closer, impossibly closer, too close for comfort and Ushjima wasn't sure if he should laugh or cry if he was cable because he never in a million years would see this coming.

"I won't. I promise"

It´s the feeling of Tendou´s lips, warm and welcoming, crashing against his own, and for the first time in a long time, Ushijima swears he can feel. He can feel everything, like his senses are on hyperawareness. The touch of Tendou´s fingertips, the slow, loving movements of a kiss, the creeping heat of his bedroom that was beginning to feel suffocating; it was all so surreal, and Ushijima, for the first time, feels real. 

He felt like any other guy his age, the ones who joked around in the hallways and snuck out at night. It was like waking up, but to a reality he'd never been aware of.

If it weren't for the fluttering closing of his eyelids, he could have sworn the room seemed brighter, that Tendou seemed brighter.

It wasn´t until he felt the movement of Tendou tilting his head into the kiss, deepening the gesture, that the realization hit him.

His head felt like it was spinning. This wasn't right. None of this was right because he wasn't supposed to kiss Tendou; he wasn't supposed to kiss anyone. It wasn't worth it, not with the lack of meaning behind it and the way it felt way too nice. Tendou´s lips felt way too nice against his own, tasting just a little bit like the strawberry flavored gummies he had been snacking on, and Ushijima had to pull away before he wasn't able to. 

"Satori,"

It was barely a whisper though and it failed to do anything. 

Tendou might not even had heard it, refusing to let go, the swarming cloud of pent up emotions becoming too unbearable. 

This was wrong; he knew it was only leading on a rush of feelings for Tendou that would never be returned and he didn't deserve that. He didn't deserve someone like Ushijima who could barely handle a basic conversation with someone, let alone maintain a steady relationship.

"Satori, stop."

That was enough. Tendou pulled away and his lips were flushed and his eyes were hazy and Ushijima already missed the contact against his lips and the pressure against his cheek. It was obvious Tendou was embarrassed, cheeks burning a vibrant red, fearful of the fact that he´d stepped so remarkably out of line, almost regretting that he´d quite literally kissed his best friend. 

He just kissed his best friend.

Ushijima was already feeling blank again, empty and unattainable as he glanced back at a clearly nervous and uneasy Tendou. What were you supposed to do in this kind of situation? There wasn't exactly a guideline for recommendations after locking lips with your only companion. He didn't know what to say, or what to think. He could only sit there, waiting in a silence that seemed to stab him in the gut.

"Wakatoshi, I-"

"I think you should go."

Tendou was abruptly cut off by the surprisingly soft voice of Ushijima. It was a tone he wasn't used to. He didn't sound commanding, or stern though. He didn't even sound regretful from what had just occurred.

He sounded broken. For the first time, Tendou saw Ushijima for something other than a masked set of hidden emotions. He saw him as more than a charming yet blank canvas as he regretfully forced himself out of the house, the evening breeze nipping at him through his close. He saw Ushijima for something other than a put together captain of the volleyball team, other than a solvable mystery. Tendou saw Ushijima for what he really was.

Ushijima was broken.


End file.
